


The Mountain Moriah

by Anorabug



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Amnesia, Developing Friendships, Human Sacrifice, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Loss of Identity, Post-Regeneration (Doctor Who), Time Travel, Trans Male Character, vaguely implied
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:28:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23316166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anorabug/pseuds/Anorabug
Summary: He's brand-spanking-new with one too many hearts and a serious case of amnesia."I was on the mountain as the world burned golden."
Comments: 12
Kudos: 17





	1. Where He Stopped, Nobody Knows

Emptiness echoes in my ears. I look around.

I’m standing in the bay of a ship. The walls are full of circles and the pillars look like coral.

How can I know this odd room is a ship, but not my own damned name?

I sneeze. Not because there’s dust up my nose (there is) but because something smells very strongly. My heart feels like I’m having palpitations. My head is still achey, but there’s something else too. It’s very disorienting, whatever it is. I don’t know if I like it.

I sit in place, folding my legs- my pants are too short, how odd, I liked this pair- and try to collect myself. The temperature is around 74 degrees- I don’t know how I know that- but I feel much too hot. I peel off my flannel and tie it around my waist. There’s no shirt underneath, just a tank top. I don’t pay much attention; it’s just a passing observation through the haze of my headache and the strangeness of my surroundings.

Suddenly, the blue wooden doors on the far wall open and two people rush in, slamming said doors behind them. One is tall and skinny. The other is curvy with bold red hair. Both of them are very familiar characters to me. I can’t exactly pay them much attention right now, though. The smells that swept into the room with them are overwhelming my frazzled senses. I can identify a few of them- sweat, grass and soil, deodorant and perfume, some variety of hair gel- but the rest are foreign. 

I’ve been noticed. The tall man’s nose crinkles and he looks around before his eyes focus on me, sitting on the ground with one hand on my chest, staring idly at them. The redheaded lady notices next and she jumps. “OI! How’d you get in here?!” I blink. I don’t know, so I say nothing. Her voice sends a throb of pain through my skull.

The tall man grabs a device out of his pocket and slowly lifts it towards me. Screwdriver, my mind whispers. It makes a noise. That’s painful, too. Is everything going to hurt today? 

“My head,” I mumble. 

“That’s impossible,” the tall man says.

He walks towards me, screwdriver still in hand. I sneeze again- this time because of the dust, a sparkling golden cloud of which puffs out of my nose- and both he and the lady jump.

“That’s impossible,” the man says again. I don’t say anything.

The lady walks over, less shy than he appears to be. “How’d he get in here? Did you forget to lock the door? And what’s he doing on the floor?” She looks me over. “Come on, handsome, get up.”

Okay, sure. I feel somehow inclined to listen to her. Something in my chest feels odd at the sight of the two people. Aside from the palpitations, that is. I struggle to my feet, but stumble and fall heavily onto one of the coral pillars branching up from the ground.

“Whoa there! You been drinking, then?”

I look at her- Well, more accurately, I look down at her. Even from my slouched position, she’s only at chin level. Something about this feels wrong. “Aren’t you… taller?” Whoa. Who said that? I grab my throat, dazed. It must have been me, but that feels wrong too. I look at my shirt. It’s much too short, I note. I feel like I’m thirty feet away, floating outside myself. Everything about this is wrong.

She sounds like she’s underwater. “What’s that supposed to mean?!” she asks, affronted.

“I’m not sure,” I mumble as the room spins. Everything goes dark.

I wake up slowly to the sound of beeping. It reminds me of a heart monitor, but it must be broken. Or I have a terrible arrhythmia. My eyes open slowly. The lights are dim above me, which is nice. I feel less dusty and my head doesn’t hurt as much, but the strange feeling is still there, perhaps even stronger than before. 

I turn onto my side. There’s a steaming cup of tea. It smells very strong and quite bitter, but I grab it and have a sip anyway. Mm… superheated infusion of free radicals and tannins. It tastes as bitter as it smelled, but the warmth is comforting and my throat is less dry. My head feels a little more clear.

I place the cup back where I had grabbed it from- some sort of brushed metal tabletop- and glance to my side. 

Someone is staring at me.

I stare back, frozen. 

It’s the tall man, I think. He looks serious. His eyes are dark and very, very old. I blink and lean closer, wanting a better look at them. Something about that face is familiar, but I can’t place it. The odd smell is back, too.

He remains still as I lean in until our faces are inches away. His eyes are even more fascinating up close. Something golden swirls deep within.

“Do you know my name?” I whisper.

He leans back. Clearly, that was not the question he expected. Probably more along the lines of ‘Where am I?’ or ‘Who are you?’ or ‘Why am I in a hospital bed that’s not in a hospital?’

“Do you not know?” he asks. 

“No,” I say. “It’s very distressing. And something smells very odd. I think it’s coming from you.” I sniff my arm. It has the same odd smell, just a little different. “Oh. It’s coming from me, too. It’s not your hair gel, in case you were wondering, but I can smell that as well. Do you know why I was sneezing dust, by the way? I don’t usually do that. And my clothes feel like they’ve gone through the drier one too many times. I think your heart monitor is broken, too. Why did I ask you my own name? I feel like you would know, even though I’m almost positive we’ve never met. Almost positive. I don’t recall. You and your friend both look familiar. Does any of this make sense to you?”

The tall man looks at me with an expression I can’t quite break down. He’s got a quirked smile. “You’ve got quite a gob on you!” His face straightens. “I don’t know who you are or how you got here, but you’ve just regenerated. Your brains are bound to be scrambled up.” He looks at the beeping machine. “The heart monitor’s working fine. See, perfect rhythm.”

“Well,” I say, puzzled, “Last time I checked, I had the usual PQRST. But it looks more like a PQRSTUVWX up there, which doesn’t seem right at all.”

“PQRST is for one heart. You’ve got two.” Tall man- yes, that’s what I’m calling him- looks at me strangely again. “You’re a Time Lord. We have two hearts. How do you forget that?”

“Oh.” I blink. “Wait, I…” I shake my head. “That doesn’t sound right, but I’ll take your word for it.”

My stomach gurgles indignantly. I look around. “Is there someplace I could get something to eat? My guts are all hollow- I mean, they’re supposed to be sort of hollow, but-” 

Tall man cuts me off. “I’ll take you to the kitchen. Come on.”

“Okay, yeah.” I sit up and place my feet on the floor. Looking down at my body, it appears someone has put me into some pajamas. There’s a pair of slippers on the floor too, which I ignore. There’s something underneath my feet that’s warm and kind, and I don’t want to lose it.

I push up onto my feet and my knees immediately buckle. Tall man is there as soon as it happens, looping an arm under mine and hoisting me up. Suddenly, he’s not so tall. He walks me down a hallway and into a room with a table and several cabinets and brings me over to a chair. He sets about grabbing a few things out of them.

“Well I guess I can’t call you Tall man any more,” I say. He turns to me, confused. “You know. Because I’m… taller than you,” I explain. He doesn’t seem any less confused. “So what… should I call you? Can I just make something up?” I grin. “Something silly. Like Doctor Who or Theta Sigma or something.”

He suddenly looks furious. I shrink back. “Sorry, do you… not like… being called things?”

“Where did you hear that name?”

“Uh… Doctor Who? I thought ‘cause you had medical equipment and I don’t know who you are--”

“No. The other one. Who are you?”

“We’ve already established that I don’t know-”

Redheaded lady takes that particular moment to walk into the room. She looks at the angry man, who’s gripping a can of a vegetable I don’t recognize that he’d pulled out of the cabinet. “Oh, are you cooking something? I can come back later.” She notices me and smiles. “He’s awake! You must be feeling better, then. What’s your name, sweetheart?”

“I know, that should be an easy question,” I quirk, turning away from Angry man. “What’s yours?”

“Donna Noble, as you please.”

I take her hand and shake it excitedly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you! No, really. It’s really great.”

Donna Noble seems confused, but still flattered. “Come off it, you. Charmer, this one.” She finally notices the angry man. “What’s got you hot and bothered?”

“Donna,” Angry man says carefully, “You should step away from him.” His dark eyes are laser-focused on me and his expression is tight.

“What? Why? He seems harmless enough. Look at him, just sitting here. What’s he done?”

I blink. That’s a good question. What have I done? “Uh…” I say quietly, “Maybe you should. I don’t know- if he thinks I’m dangerous-”

“Oh, nonsense. I’ll get us a cup of tea and some biscuits, we’ll have a chat.” She glares at the angry man. “Sit down and be nice. He’s not feeling well.”

He stiffly slides into a seat across from me, seeming to be cautiously settled for now. I still don’t know what to call him, but decide to leave the whole thing alone. Surely someone will mention it eventually.

Donna Noble comes back with a packet of digestives. I reach my hand out and grab three, pulling back quickly and hiding them on my lap. She clears her throat. 

“So since my friend here has been so rude-” she glares at the man, who shrinks back a bit- “I’ll ask the questions. You said you don’t remember your name, is that right?” I nod, mouth full. “How’d you get on board?” I shrug. “Well, what do you remember?”

My brow furrows as I wrack my brain. I remember…

I remember the mountains… Climbing… 

I remember the storm clouds. I remember the hairs on the back of my neck raising.

I remember a blinding light and shouting and the loudest noise I’ve ever heard.

I remember the sensation of a bolt down my spine and the taste of metal and my entire body burning into nothingness.

Someone snaps in front of my face and I flinch back. “I think I got hit by lightning,” I say, dazed. Donna Noble looks concerned. 

Not-so-angry-anymore man frowns. “I didn’t see any burns on your clothing, just a bit of tearing and some dirt. Are you sure?”

“Well,” I run a hand through my hair, “I suppose I can’t be sure of anything right now. I was on a mountain, it was bright and loud, my hair stood up, and I died. So it’s just a guess-”

“You DIED?!” Donna Noble shouts. I flinch again. “What do you mean, you DIED? You’re right here!”

Not-so-angry man looks tense. “Time Lords have sort of a built-in way to cheat death,” he says, monotone. “We rewrite our entire genetic code. Come back as a different person.”

Donna Noble gapes at him. “Have YOU died?!” 

He nods.

“No bloody way. How many times?” 

“Nine times.”

“Oh.” She seems stricken. “I’m sorry,” she says quietly. “Did it hurt?”

“Every cell in your body burns at once. It’s excruciating.”

The room is quiet as Donna Noble digests this information.

“Hold on,” she turns to me. “Didn’t you say all the Time Lords were gone? You said he regenerated. So is he--”

She hesitates. That seems out of character for her. Perhaps it’s a tender subject.

“So is Time Lord a title, or something?” I question. “I don’t get how that works with the hearts and the undead thing and such.”

“You’ve really forgotten,” the man says faintly. “You’ve forgotten everything. Where have you been all this time?”

“I… I think I’ve just been at home, mostly. You know, going to work and all that… I’m not anything special. I don’t have a pocket watch, either,” I pause. “I don’t know why I felt the need to tell you that.”

The man leans back. “The Chameleon Arc. A pocket watches store the essence of a Time Lord while they’re disguised as another species. It’s a safety mechanism- I’ve done it once before.” He closes his eyes. “Not pleasant. The Arc manufactures a whole life’s worth of memories. You really think you’ve been that person forever. When you go back… it’s like killing them. But you won’t regenerate if you die without opening the watch, so that’s ruled out.

“But you’re not fresh-loomed, either. You have memories, somewhere in your subconscious. You know things you really shouldn’t and we need to find out why. Who you used to be.”

My face feels like stone. “What if…” I say slowly, “What if I wasn’t a good person? What if I was some kind of bastard who wanted to run away from their crimes?”

His face turns sympathetic. “We’ll deal with that if it comes to it. I won’t let you hurt anyone.”

I feel a hand on my arm and I turn towards the kind face of Donna Noble. 

“For what it’s worth, I don’t think anyone evil would bother asking those questions. I think you’re just lost.”

I give her a small smile. “I hope so, Donna Noble.”

The man leaves, saying something or another about repairs or sensors. I sit with Donna Noble, quickly finishing off the packet of biscuits.

“Well,” she muses as I lean back in the chair, “We’ve got to call you something. If you’re a Time Lord, maybe you’ve got a name like a job. Did you have a job?”

“Yeah, I did,” I huff a laugh, “I had a few. But it would be awful silly to call me Babysitter or Cashier or Paramedic-”

“Paramedic?” Donna crows. “Did all you Martians go to medical school together or somethin’? That’s precious!” She laughs. “I should call you the Medic just to mess with him.”

I grin. “Yeah, Medic 7 Station 13, that’s me. IV starter with a degree.”

She grins back. “No, but really. You should have a name. Do you remember the first letter or anything?”

I shrug. “Listen- New face, right? I might as well pick a new name, too.” I grin again. “Like Spork or Brick.”

“Oh, don’t be stupid. You should pick something normal. Like Robert or George.” I grimace and shake my head. “Yeah, you’re right. You don’t look like a George.” She ponders for a moment. “How about Isaac?”

“Isaac… anglicised from Yitzchak, derived from tzachak- to laugh. I like it.” I smile. “I’d like this new life to be full of laughter.”

“Isaac it is, then!” Donna Noble proclaims. I nod decisively.

“Isaac it is.”

“Well Isaac, you’re clearly in need of some new clothes- Not that you don’t look strapping in those jammies,” Donna smirks.

I look down at myself, tugging at the hem of my top. Pinstriped baby-blue, salmon and white. Yeah, it doesn’t really seem like streetclothes. Still too small for me. They look to be about the man-who-left-the-room’s size. Maybe it was all he could find. I idly wonder if he changed me.

Funny- the two of them have seen more of me than I have.

“Good idea. Do I have to go shopping in jim-jams?”

“Nah, there’s a wardrobe in here somewhere.”

“Well, let’s go find it then!” I brush some crumbs off and stand- this time I waver, but don’t fall. My triumphant expression must be something special, as Donna Noble laughs before walking out to the hallway. 

“Come on.”

I follow obediently, feeling just a little bit silly as I wobble about barefoot, getting used to the new length of my limbs. I can only imagine the sight of a six-foot-something fellow in undersized pajamas toddling about. It sets me to giggles.

Donna Noble gives me a Look and I settle for trailing a hand on the wall to orient myself as we walk towards a room that opens into an enormous atrium filled top-to-bottom with rows and rows of clothing hung on bars and hooks and hangers. It’s so massive, there’s a whole second level to it. I do a full 360, not sure where to start.

“Go on, then,” she says. I blink.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, go ahead.”

I’m suddenly buzzing, trotting about on the balls of my feet as I skirt through the shelves. They’re arranged in some sort of way I can almost decipher. Some are full-on outfits that look almost like cartoony disguises; I spot a firefighter’s coveralls and jacket, a set of scrubs with a lab coat and stethoscope, and what looks like a clam harvester’s overalls, complete with ridiculously long rubber boots and gloves and a thick knit cap, among many others. Another section appears to be arranged by time period, although the geographical locations are all mixed-up-- lace-collared garb and loose wool tunics of Europe and wide-banded, ornamented kimono characteristic of Japan’s Edo period, both early 17th century, are interspersed with one another. Further rows approach 18th, 19th, 20th and 21st century garments; beyond that, I can hardly recognize whatever the hell the fashion sense must have morphed into. Corresponding smallclothes and socks are in drawers alongside them.

Mannequin necks, heads, hands, feet, and arms sit on shelves (all firmly affixed with chains and locks, for some reason), displaying various jewelry and accessories. Purses, satchels, handbags, backpacks, knapsacks, saddle bags and, yes, fanny packs are arranged nearby.

On the second floor, I see a spot with some empty clothing hooks, a couple of benches, a curtain, and a mirror. Some sort of changing room? Excellent!

I skip about, grabbing up whatever size-appropriate thing catches my fancy and transporting it to place on the benches. Once a substantial pile has accumulated, I pause. 

The mirror.

I’ve studiously avoided it until now. Something about seeing this new face- this new body- sets a heavy stone in my gut. It feels like looking at it would be a finality. It would mean letting go.

I’m suddenly shutting down.

I step out of the changing room and sit on the edge of the upper walkway, staring blankly down. The blankness in my head spreads like a lead vest over my body. I don’t fight it. 

There’s a distant thrumming, like the sound of an idling drive belt. I sit, unfocused, listening to it hum for some time.

The sensation of being observed brings me out of my stupor, but I don’t look as they sit on the walkway beside me.

“I know what it feels like.”

It’s the man. He rests his hands on the ledge, gripping it like he might slip off. 

“You’re brand new. Everything you knew about yourself, stripped away in an instant.”

I can hear the faint shift of fabric as he breathes. I think I can hear the beating of his hearts, too- a muffled lub-dub-lub-dub, like two stopwatches encased in cotton.

“It’s just us, you know. Everyone else is gone. Burned with the planet.”

There’s dulled grief in his voice, like a blade worn down by time. He’s suffering in silence.

I don’t know this man, but my heart-- hearts-- ache for him. Silently, I shift closer.

His grip on the ledge tightens until the tips of his long, thin fingers turn white, then relaxes. He puts his hand on mine. It’s cool to the touch, and dry. I turn mine over and our palms press together, not quite holding one another, but giving a semblance of comfort.

I stand first and extend my hand to him. Without hesitation, he takes it and joins me on his feet.

Our eyes meet as we stand face-to-face. His look so very old. I wonder what he sees in mine.

“Call me Isaac,” I say quietly.

“Doctor.” he responds. “I’m the Doctor.”

I smile. He turns and walks away, hands in his pockets. I walk back into the changing room.

I breathe one last deep breath and turn around. There he is… there I am. I’m tall. Much taller than I remember being. My hair’s about the same length it was, still sticking out wherever it likes- darker, though, and more coarse. I have what looks like a 5 o’clock shadow. My build is average for my height; I’m lean, with a little softness to my figure. I lean in closer to my face- sturdy brow, slightly upturned lips, a rather Roman nose.

I look into my eyes. I expected a stranger to be looking back, but… Despite everything, it’s still me.

Despite the tears blurring my vision, I laugh. It resonates from deep within my chest. Sure, I might be taller and have two hearts and a big fat hole in my memories, but it’s still me.

It will take time, but I might just be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am a very new writer, experimenting with styles. Please let me know if you have any feedback or if there's anything you want to see from this work!


	2. Zero Times Zero

Once I’m settled down a bit, I start to shift through the pile of clothing I collected. Loose jeans and flannels may have been my schtick last time, but this time… Not quite. Doesn't hurt that I can skip the binder now.

Now here’s something- I grin and fumble to put it all on. 

I look myself over. A button-down and black trousers with a leather belt. Atop sits a long, loose-fitting silver cardigan with rolled-up sleeves. The shoes are sturdy black oxfords. I can’t help but notice a pair of earrings I grabbed- much to my surprise, my ears are actually pierced. They weren’t in my last body. Strange. In any case, a pair of small silver hoops complete the outfit. 

(The socks, though perhaps inconsequential, are brightly patterned and mismatched. It just felt right.)

That’s it. It looks well-coordinated, but somehow still a bit like a paradox-- formal but informal, nondescript but unusual. It fits like a glove.

I pull back the curtains and walk down the stairs. Donna Noble is settled in an armchair, reading what looks to be an alien gossip magazine. She notices me and puts it down. “Pure rubbish anyway. Come on, Isaac, let’s have a look at you!”

I put out my arms and spin, presenting the outfit. She applauds encouragingly and I feel my cheeks warm. “Well, what do you think? Classy or trashy?”

“Definitely classy,” she appraises. “I like the earrings. They suit you.”

“Thanks. I never wore them last time, so I thought it might be nice to… you know… make a distinction,” I say with false levity. Donna Noble must pick up on it, but she doesn’t comment. 

“So,” I say, rocking back on my heels, “What happens now?”

“I suppose I could give you a tour. Your lot like reading, right? There’s a library somewhere around.”

I think for a moment. It seems like a good idea, learning whatever I can to fill the gaps in my knowledge. “Sounds neat.”

We stroll down a twisting series of hallways until we’ve reached an arched doorway made of dark wood. Stepping inside, the walls are similarly wooden and are covered, floor-to-ceiling, with shelves of books as far as the eye can see; it’s almost dizzying how large this room is. Donna leads me to a space in what looks to be the center with a fireplace and several victorian-style chairs.

“There’s not really an index anywhere, but I’ve always found what I’m looking for,” she says. I nod and begin browsing the shelves idly. History books, arranged by solar system… Technical manuals for machines I’ve never heard of… A catalogue of card games from across the Milky Way… 

Aha! Something catches my eye. I pull it from the shelf. 

It’s a fairly small book, about two of my palms across and three tall, and only a finger thick. The cover is a deep burnished orange, and the title is inlaid with silver- Not English, but swirling concentric circles, lines and hexagons. It wasn’t translated and I couldn’t read it, exactly, but it tickled something deep within my mind.

I move to one of the chairs across from Donna and open the book, flipping through pages… and pages… and pages... 

I’m not exactly paying rapt attention to the words, mostly looking through various mind-bendingly three-dimensional inked illustrations, but I notice that the first several hundred pages are in what looks to be a mixture of Greek and mathematical notation symbols, while the next several hundred are in what looks very vaguely like an amalgam of Arabic, Egyptian heiroglyphics, and Devanagari. The last section is the shortest, with only some 400 pages, but they’re filled with the same circular script which was on the front cover.

Before I know it, I’m at the end. It wasn’t exactly the reading experience I would normally seek out, but despite the strangeness, I think I may have absorbed some information somehow.

It was a book of history- Specifically of Time Lord history. I didn’t glean the names of anything from it, but parts of it made just enough sense to me.

I hold the book in my hands once more. By all appearances, it can’t have been more than a hundred pages thick, but I could have sworn I flipped through nearly fifteen times that. 

I look over at Donna, who’s holding a book of her own- an Agatha Christie mystery novel. She looks to be about fifty pages in. Now, it’s not as though I was reading the history book in great depth, but it truly didn’t feel like nearly enough time had passed to justify fifteen hundred pages of it.

“Donna,” I ask tentatively, “How long have we been in the library, exactly?”

She looks up from her book. “Can’t have been more than twenty minutes. Why?”

“Oh, no particular reason. Thanks.”

It had been nineteen minutes and twelve seconds when I asked. I had just wanted to check, since it would be very odd to actually be correct about that sort of thing. Maybe that’s what they meant by Time Lord; knowing what time it is without a watch. Although that sounded like a strange thing to be a Lord of.

I shrug and stand, looking to seek other material- but as I do, I find myself wandering further than I expected out of the door. I amble for a while through twisting hallways, patting the walls rhythmically throughout- my sense of timing is extremely strong now and my hands work by themselves, making interesting sounds and patterns. I peer through doorways containing various spaces: there's a room with a very large television; a room full of pillows; a room with nothing but ticking clocks of various builds; a room with what looks like a small swimming pool full of gelatin; a room with a full-on orchestra setup, complete with instrument racks full of instruments I have and haven’t seen and endless shelves of music sheet; a room that looks like a greenhouse with many branches separated by doors and with different colors of sunlight streaming through, and-

It’s got a very heavy door. I feel inclined, perhaps by curiosity or perhaps by something else, to pull it open and peer inside. When I do-

Nothing.

Not in the manner of it being empty of things like tables or books or instruments, but there really is absolutely nothing there. It feels like staring into the void. Simply for curiosity’s sake, I take a step, hoping to find a floor- but my foot finds nothing and I fall in.

The door shuts behind me. I don’t hear it. As a matter of fact, I don’t really hear anything. The silence is so deafening that my ears ring.

After some amount of time- I really can’t tell in here, which is immensely disorienting after being acutely aware of each passing second since I awoke- I start to become very aware of my own breathing, slow and deep, and the sensation of my hearts pushing dense, cool blood through my body. I can’t see it, but I can feel it.

But soon, that too becomes numb. Everything is so unbelievably silent and empty that it almost feels like… well, it almost feels like the moment I died. It’s not frightening, though. It feels like returning to a baseline state. Not warm or cold; not wet or dry; not heavy or light; just floating in nothing.

Wavering things start appearing in the distant corners of my vision.

The shadows of my old life- my old friends, my old family. Visions of the past I’ll never truly get back. I don’t know how to feel. Upset? Angry? Even happy? Mostly, I just feel-

I feel empty. Like those memories belong to someone else. Someone long gone.

But as those slowly vanish, other things start to appear. Even odder things. Things that feel so terribly, painfully unfamiliar-familiar. I see the flickering of fire. I hear screaming- Mine? Someone else’s?

The mournful wails of a thousand million planets, dying at once?

I curl in on myself in the silence. I gasp and sob in anger and grief- for the suffering I hear. It’s something barely remembered. Something in the past, in the future, in the present. I have heard the cries and I have died with them.

The door opens. I am pulled by my arm out into the hallway. It’s so bright- I squeeze my eyes shut as I tremble. Someone is cradling me to their chest, but I’m too overwhelmed to notice- I am mourning for things I cannot recall.

The mountain. I remember the mountain.

I was on the mountain. 

I was on the mountain with my arms tied behind my back.

I was on the mountain with someone whose face I did not see as they lifted a twisted steel dagger high and brought it down upon my spine...

I was on the mountain as the world burned golden.

An arm clamps onto my wrist and pulls me out into the blinding light of the hall.

Someone is grasping me to their chest, rocking forward and back. Their breath is steady as I sob and tremble.

My senses tell me that it has taken a good half hour for my breathing to calm. My eyes feel swollen shut and my throat is dry and scratchy. It isn’t a pretty thing, that sort of crying. Mostly wet and messy. Still I was held.

I look up. It’s… both of them. The Doctor and Donna. 

The Doctor with arms around me, Donna rubbing a soothing hand on my back and speaking soft, calming words.

I laugh quietly and without mirth. The sound is rasping and grates on my oversensitive ears. 

“You were right,” I say hoarsely, with a little bitterness. “It wasn’t lightning.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Isaac is... Not exactly stable yet. 
> 
> :)
> 
> I'm a very new writer. Please let me know if there's something you want to see from this story!


	3. (Don't) Take It Away From Me

“So what kind of sick trap did I fall into?”

It’s been about twenty minutes since I calmed down. Donna Noble had led me to a room with a sink and a tub, which I had spent some time in, washing the grime and salt off my face and letting the redness around my eyes recede.

“That wasn’t supposed to be a trap, actually,” says the Doctor, leaning back onto a coral pillar in the console room. Donna had since gone off to sleep, citing the fact that ‘Humans can’t go without for a hundred years like you two Martians!’ The Doctor had sputtered and protested that he was not from Mars, to which I could only think that I probably wouldn’t have known otherwise had he told me that we were.

“Well, what was it?” I ask, propped up on my elbows in the leather jumpseat. The drive-belt thrumming is much stronger in this room; I’m surprised that I hadn’t noticed it when I first appeared here. It’s sort of soothing.

“That was the Zero Room; Well, specifically, that was _a_ Zero Room. They’re meant to be isolation chambers, blocking out temporal feed and telepathic signals and gravity and all those… other things.” He waves a hand around. “That one was a sensory deprivation chamber. Sort of a different experience with everyone- with a mind as fragmented as yours, it’s not surprising that you started hallucinating, really. No distractions, subconscious comes out to play. Question is-” He pushes off the coral abruptly and moves to the console, placing both hands on the edge and leaning over to stare into the central column, where a fascinating blue-green light shines out. “How do we access those subconscious memories?”

That, in particular, gives me pause. “Doctor.”

He turns his head toward me. “What?”

“I don’t know if I want those memories back.”

“ _What?_ ” His voice pitches up as he frowns in confusion.

I take a deep breath. “I’m pretty sure I was murdered. Traumatically. Maybe more than once.” I close my eyes. I lift one hand and press my thumb to my temple, rubbing it like I’m trying to get rid of a headache. “Maybe that makes me weak, I don’t know. It’s already in my head. What’s the point of making me remember being tied up and stabbed in technicolor?”

“Yes, but what else are you forgetting? There could be something there, something important.” He’s looking at me like… I don’t know. Like something. “How you got into the TARDIS. How you went so long without knowing anything. How you escaped from the Time War! Come on, aren’t you _curious?_ ”

Oh. I see.

He’s looking at me like a puzzle. 

A novelty. A mystery to solve.

It rubs me hard the wrong way.

“No.”

“What d’you mean, _no_?”

“ _No_. I’m not curious.”

“But what if-”

I cut him off. “And it’s not your choice to make.”

He falls silent as I stand and walk back into the hallway opposite the blue doors. “Don’t worry. I won’t fall into any trap rooms this time.”

The background noise of the engine running feels deafening as the door shuts behind me. I lean against it for just a moment before pushing off and walking absently down the endless hallway. Not going through any doors. Just walking.

I never thought it would be so irritating knowing exactly how much time has passed, but it’s awfully hard to lose yourself when every second feels like it’s echoing through your head and tapping out a rhythm on your fingers.

As such, I know exactly how long it’s been- three hours, thirty-four minutes, and twelve seconds- before I stop walking and just sit down where I am on the floor. Not because I’m tired- I feel as though I could walk for miles and not break a sweat, but because there’s no point to it, really. I’ve been watching the patterns on the floor, odd scuff-marks here and a bent piece of metal there, and it seems as though I’m not going anywhere at all, despite the fact that every turn has been at a right angle and I can guarantee that I haven’t been going in circles.

This ship is a nightmare.

Several lights flash. “Sorry,” I say to nothing in particular, just because it feels like I ought to apologize. The lights flicker more softly. I feel a very large presence, like an enormous weighted blanket that I’ve just now noticed is on top of me.

I’m talking to the ship like it can hear me.

It seems crazy, thinking that the halls I’ve been walking and the rooms I’ve been in have been, conceptually, alive. But despite knowing that it could very well be just some product of my imagination or another sign of madness encroaching, like the hallucinations in that damned Zero Room, it feels like the only explanation. There’s just a very obvious air of sentience around me that I’m surprised I didn’t notice before. Like a presence thrumming around the base of my skull. I can’t help but to reach out to feel it better.

It’s like a spark jumping a gap. Something in my mind snaps into place and opens up- like I’ve been looking through a tunnel this whole time and I’ve just stepped out into the wide world. For the first few minutes, it feels like there are popping bubbles behind my eyeballs and my fingers are buzzing. My body doesn’t know what to make of this impossible new influx of sensation. I can see the appeal of a Zero Room now. There can’t be more than just background interference here, but it’s almost deafening.

Telepathic signals, the Doctor mentioned. It must be telepathic signals.

Does this mean I’m a telepath now?

Maybe I am.

Whatever it is, it didn’t bring any of my other memories back, which I can’t definitively say is a good or a bad thing. 

A twinge shoots down my back and my mouth fills with the taste of rust recalling the memory that had overwhelmed me in the Zero Room.

It’s true that I don’t want it back… At least, not yet. I’m just not prepared for that. It’s been less than a day since I showed up here, I’m still getting new senses, and I barely know what to do with my own arms and legs. 

I know I’ll have to face it eventually. But I’m not inclined to make that decision because a man I barely know thinks I’m a puzzle he gets to put together.

I let a lungful of air hiss out between my teeth. 

He probably didn’t mean anything by it, I know. He’s curious. From an outsider’s perspective, I would be too. But as much as I’m just getting to know myself, I know I need to set boundaries. Something tells me I don’t take kindly to being pushed or pulled one way or another.

Great. Just another thing I’ve got to figure out. I guess I really am sort of a puzzle; everything I’ve known about myself has been through deduction, like throwing a handful of thumbtacks at a wall and seeing which ones stick. It’s frustrating, but I try not to linger.

Tzachak. To laugh.

Yeah, I’m not doing a whole lot of that right now. Everything about this crazy situation has left me teetering. 

No. Hold on. You know what?

I may as well laugh.

A bubble of something wells up in my chest. No, really, this is funny. It is!

I was literally stabbed in the back, got an extra heart stuffed into my thorax, grew a foot taller, and now I’m a walking, talking, psychic clock! Isn’t that hilarious?

The back of my head hits the wall as I fall back against it and giggle, then progress to full-on, chesty laughter. The sound echoes eerily through the hall. It just makes me laugh harder. A cold tear traces a path down my cheek, but I don’t bother wiping it away as my revelry tapers off into shallow, lightheaded breaths.

Why was I upset about anything, anyways? It’s not a problem. I’m fine, I’m walking and talking and I have so much energy running up and down my arms it feels like lightning and my brain is going so fast that it feels like a bicycle gear with a fallen-off chain and it’s all one big adventure now! There’s so much to do and all the time in the world to do it with because I can feel the seconds going by and there are just so many of them, and it’s all at once and falling off into the horizon, so many seconds and it never ends, does it? And it’s all so funny!

No, no more laughing. We’re calm now. Calmed down enough to go back to the console room, at least.

I walk back through the hall with my thumbs in my trousers pockets, grinning.

“Sorry for running off there. Must’ve just been over-emotional from that Zero Room thing, right? Nothing to worry about, anyway. So! This is a ship, right? A spaceship? Can we go somewhere? Not that I’m bored or anything, we don’t have to.”

The Doctor, it seems, is just as willing to put the argument behind him as I am. “Oh, yes! Always ready for a trip. Lovely little jaunt around the universe. Best wait for Donna, though, she’ll be furious if we go somewhere without her.”

“Sure, no problem. So uh... Just to pass the time… How’s this ship work?” I ask, circling the central column.

The Doctor’s eyes light up.

“Well, you see…”

The universe can't make a joke out of me if I laugh along.

Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit of a shorter one, but it's a prelude to adventure! We'll be seeing lots of alien planets and interesting creatures very soon.
> 
> Everybody knows that fiction is a projection of the self. Some aspects of this chapter are based on a manic episode. Which are not fun!
> 
> (If you feel you're experiencing symptoms of mania, please, please contact your psychiatrist or someone you trust to help. It's scary, but you're not alone in this.)


End file.
